


you'll be alright

by virgobby



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Drinking, Execution, F/M, Happy Ending, Miscarriage, NSFW, Plot changes, Smut, Spoilers, Violence, but not of main characters, characters might be OOC, not detailed but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgobby/pseuds/virgobby
Summary: just close your eyes, the sun is going downyou'll be alright, no one can hurt you nowcome morning light, you and i'll be safe and soundHow Haymitch won his games, broke a promise, kept it in the end, and got the happy ending he deserved.
Relationships: Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	you'll be alright

**Author's Note:**

> As listed in the tags, there is violence typical from that of the Hunger Games series. There is a very brief smut scene that doesn't have much detail, so it's easy to skip over. Basically, I just wanted something from Haymitch's P.O.V, because he deserved a happy ending and get the life he deserved all along. I cannot stress this enough- there are spoilers. But all of this is based off details taken from the book and movies. Of course some of it's changed to best fit the plot.
> 
> Please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes, my fingers wrote this too fast for my brain. I'll eventually have it beta'd and re-posted.

It was unfair. It seemed like it was his destiny to be reaped into not only the 50th annual Hunger Games, but the Second Quarter Quell. Puny, scrawny Haymitch Abernathy knew he had no chance in surviving against twenty four other tributes, let alone forty eight. 

When he woke up the morning of the reaping, the familiar heaviness he had known all his life was already present. Every year, his mother made him bath in the frigid water, scrubbing his skin and hair twice to make sure he looked as presentable as possible. He wore the same thing every year- black suit pants and a button down shirt until they were too small and he had to find something else. The idea always seemed morbid to him, getting dressed up for an event that called for someone’s death. 

“Are you ready for this?” the familiar voice he had grown to love appeared from his left as the stream of District Twelve residents moved towards the square. Haymitch smiled and turned to face the most beautiful girl in the Seam- Genevieve Lewis. Genevive was slightly shorter than average, coming up to Haymitch’s shoulder. Her hair was incredibly long and hung in jet black waves. She was paler than most, but Haymitch loved it because it made her emerald eyes and dark freckles pop. When they had met at school, he knew that he wanted to marry her. When he worked up the courage to finally speak to her, he wouldn’t deny the way his heart soared when she was just as eager to talk to him as well. It didn’t take long for them to grow close.

“As ready as I can be.” he took her hand, glad to call her his girlfriend. Dating wasn’t unusual in the Seam, despite the lack of things to do. Young couples had picnics in the meadow, or went on walks or lay out past curfew to watch the stars. Most didn’t dare do more- having a kid before you were married with your own house put too much strain on everyone. Being a hormonal, dumb teenager didn’t help any. Some were not as smart. Haymitch was one of those. He vividly recalled them huddled in one of the empty houses that was ready to cave in, breath heavy and making steam in the air as he thrust into her, her breasts bouncing and moans filling the air. His favorite memory was when they had both come down from their high and lay naked together, her on his chest and just whispering of their future. If they got caught, they could probably be arrested. At the time, they didn’t care. They didn’t care about the risk of being arrested, or being caught or even having children. Because this was their chance to be close. But soon, Haymitch would marry her. His grandfather was leaving his house to Haymitch when he passed, and he had been saving every penny he earned to buy her a ring. He had only been with her for about a year, but he knew deep down he wanted to be with her. 

As they reached the square, they both headed towards the line for those ages sixteen to eighteen. Fifteen down to twelve had their own line as well. After giving their drop of blood and confirming their identity, they only had a minute before they had to go to seperate sides- females on the right and males on the left. Older kids in the back and younger in the front. 

“When the reaping is over, come to my house for tea.I have something to tell you” she whispered, giving him a light kiss before going to her spot. Haymitch nodded, smiled and went to his own spot. Not long after, the man sent to draw names tapped on his microphone to get everyone's attention.

The person sent from the Capital to reap the names was the same man every year. As far as Haymitch knew, most of them were women. Maybe no one wanted to come to the shabby, run down town to breathe in the coal-filled air of District Twelve. The residents themselves often spoke about how they would do anything to be in another district, but they didn’t dare speak this way around the peacekeepers. Speaking foul of the district and home the Capital had been kind enough to supply would show that you were ungrateful, and being ungrateful earned you death. 

“Welcome, ladies and gents!” The man tapped on the microphone, and Haymitch rolled his eyes. He never bothered to remember the man’s name, all he knew is that every year he wore some wild outfit. His eyes were a bright purple, obviously some sort of get-up, and his teeth were so stark white Haymitch almost found them painful to look at. “First, a word from your President, all the way from the Capital!” 

At this point, most everyone tuned out. It was the same message every year- it spoke of how the districts were being punished for rebelling against the people who had created them and gave them everything they needed. But it was no secret this was a lie. When the message ended, the crazy capital man clapped and then approached the bowl full of tributes. “As you may know, this marks the anniversary of the fiftieth Hunger Games and the Second Quarter Quell. As I’m sure you remember from the mandatory announcement earlier this week- On this anniversary, we will select twice as many tributes.” 

There was no reaction. People knew better. They would cry in silence, mourn the fact that the chances of their children- possibly more than one- being sent away was higher. But reacting in public, questioning the Capitol were all dumb ideas. It wouldn’t change anything.

“Ladies first.” he crossed over to the bowl, dug around dramatically, and plucked out two slips. Haymitch hated everything about him, especially his need to send people dramatically to their death. There had been one victor from District Twelve, who won the Tenth Games. He was dead before Haymitch was born. Despite his new found fame, glory and riches, the nightmares were too much. 

“Reina Hill.” his eyes immediately darted up, eager to find the newest victim. It took a moment, then the crowd began to shuffle and part. A younger girl, probably about fourteen, made her way to the stage. Haymitch didn’t know her well, just that they went to school together and she wasn’t the smartest. In fact, she lived in the poorest, most run down section of the Seam and was lucky she could afford proper clothing to be let into the school building. He cleared the negative thoughts, because in a few weeks, she would be dead. Reina had the casual look of the Seam children, and despite her attempts to look proper for the Reaping, her ill fitting clothes did nothing to hide how thin she was. She would be no match from a larger, well-fed, muscular tribute from One.

“Wonderful!” The purple eyed man bounced on his feet before carelessly tossing the paper aside and tearing open the second. “And your second tribute will be...Maysilee Donner.” Again, his wild eyes searched for the victim. 

The reaction to this tribute was not as silent. Two girls held onto Donner, wailing and begging for her not to go. That it had to be some sick, cruel joke. Haymitch himself had to swallow. Maysilee he did know. She often shared her snacks with the hungrier children at school. Her family was slightly more rich, but not rich enough to buy their way out. She seperated herself from the two girls and walked to the stage, head held high. Haymitch knew that look. He saw it everywhere. It was the face of a tribute who silently promised to do their best to last as long as possible, but didn’t promise what they couldn’t do- win. 

Haymitch didn’t hear the name of the first male tribute. He was too busy searching the crowd for Genevive and to see her reaction when he heard the echo of his name fading away. “What?” he blurted, which made himself look like an idiot as all eyes fell on him. “What?” he repeated. 

“Dude, go. You got reaped.” Another guy nudged him forward, the tone in his voice a weird mix of relief and pain. He was relieved he would see another year, but sad another child of District Twelve would die. 

“No!” An all too familiar voice cried, and Haymitch paused in walking to the stage to see Genevieve fighting her way to the path. “Haymitch, no!” Despite the twang in his chest, he continued his walk to the stage as Genevieve was dragged off to a private room, her scream fading away. 

“Well, this is wonderful.” Purple eyes clapped. “District Twelve, you might have a shot at the crown this year with four of you!” He missed the glare that came from the entire square. “Well, off you go now.” The mic feed was cut off and each Tribute was taken to a room to wait for their families to come say goodbye. 

Genevive was the first to stumble through his door, collapsing onto the floor to sob. It hurt his chest to watch her cry, knowing this would be good-bye.

“Stand up.” he said, much harsher than intended. 

“W-what?” she looked up, face a mess of tears.

“Get up, Gen. I’m walking to my death and my last memory of you won’t be you begging for something that can’t happen.” he pulled her to her feet and cupped her cheeks, thumbs running under her eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Haymitch, listen. I wanted to tell you after the reaping...but...I’m-.” she whispered, tears spilling over his thumbs.

“Your time is up.” a peacekeeper opened the door and grabbed Genevive’s upper arm, pulling her to the door.

“Wait, she has something important to tell me!” he snapped.

“Haymitch, I love you! I’m pregnant. I’m so sor-!’ she shouted, then the door slammed. Haymitch stood there in stunned silence, hardly reacting to his family coming to say their tearful goodbyes. It was at this moment, Haymitch knew he would be District Twelve’s next victor, no matter what. 

Everything was a big, painful blur. The train ride, the tribute parade, the interviews, training, even the luxurious food and living space. All he could think about was his girlfriend, beautiful Genevive, raising a baby alone until another man swooped her up and he became nothing more than a dead father, killed in a tragic event. 

Haymitch was pulled from a thought when he realized his ears were ringing and he became aware that he was standing in the most beautiful place he had ever seen. That was reminder enough that he was now in a fight to the death, he didn’t even remember the ride to the arena or being sent up the tube. The second the horn blew, Haymitch broke into a sprint. Many of the tributes were still standing in shock on their platforms. A wise few had chosen to wait until after the Bloodbath to return to the Cornucopia and collect what was left. Haymitch took advantage of these things, snatching up a knife and one of the largest backpacks he saw before taking off into the vast jungle. 

And so began his journey of painful, long days of nothing. For days, he sipped on the water he had found, nibbled on any food he killed, and watched the faces of the slain spread across the sky at night. The beautiful cerulean blue sky bled into a inky indigo to a jet black- like Genevive’s hair. It was only after he realized there were about ten tributes left did he decide to start his killing. If he wanted to return to Genevive and his child, he had to get out of here alive. He regretted that decision about an hour later when he came across a pack of Career Tributes. They could kill him in seconds, but Haymitch wasn’t going down without a fight. He knew this was being broadcasted and he wanted Genevive to see that he didn’t go down in vain. Just as the steel cold blade pressed against his throat, ready to bleed him dry, the tribute holding him in a headlock jerked, letting out a strange breathy sound before falling to the ground. Haymitch whirled around, ready to kill whoever had killed the tribute as well when he saw a familiar face emerge from the trees. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen her face in the deceased. But he also never expected her to make it this far.

“We will make it a lot longer, if it’s the two of us.” Maysilee retrieved her bloody dart from the tributes neck. 

He wanted to protest. If it came down to the two of them, he didn’t want to have to kill her. But he accepted, because she was right. The next few days were just as slow, and the day they discovered the cliff is the same day she said goodbye. 

“There’s nothing here, let’s turn back.” Maysilee glanced over the edge of the cliff. It was a very long way down, and there was no telling what was at the bottom. “There’s no way they would leave something like this so...open. A tribute comitting purposeful suicide isn’t fun to them. It’s a trap.” 

Haymitch picked up a stone and tossed it over the cliff. Within seconds, there was a pop and it flew back into his hands. He laughed at the irony. 

“I think we better separate.” She said suddenly, watching him stand his ground. “We are down to the final few, and I don’t want to have to kill you.”

Haymitch didn’t comment that if it did come down to the two of them, he might have the slight advantage. Instead, he agreed and watched her retreat into the trees. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, tossing rocks over the cliff and catching them when he heard the agonized scream of a girl. The scream came from the direction Maysilee had headed earlier. Breaking into a run, he found her lying in some grass, clawing at the ground as blood spilled from her mouth and the large holes in her neck. A few of the deadly candy pink birds fluttered above, sitting on tree branches and screaming warnings at Haymitch with their blood covered skewered beaks. He used her darts to shoot them from the trees before taking her hand. 

“H-Ha-” she tried, choking on her own blood. He knew he couldn’t save her, and she seemed to know it herself. Maysilee would not be returning home. 

“Shhh, shhh.” he held her hand, stroking her hair back. “You’ll be alright.”

She met her eyes, pleading with him. Somehow, he knew what she meant. If he lived, he would help her family. 

“Close your eyes, Maysilee.” he whispered. “And when you open them again, you’ll be alright.”

She smiled, head tilting to the side as the light faded from her eyes. The cannon boomed, and he had a few minutes to gather her things for his own and retreat for the hovercraft to gather her body. That night, her face was the only one in the sky. 

The next few days passed, just as painful, when the cannon suddenly boomed. “One...two...three.” After running through the countless tributes he had been counting in the sky, that meant there were two people remaining. Him and more than likely, the tribute girl from One. Which meant Maysilee had been fifth, which was not bad for a tribute from Twelve. His feet seemed to know where to go, heading towards the Cornucopia. Standing there by the golden horn was the girl from One. She was taller than Haymitch usually saw in women, and an ungodly amount of muscle. She gave Haymitch a smirk as she pulled one of her axes free from the back of the previous tributes.

“So you’ve come to play?” she taunted, throwing one of the axes. Haymitch had time to duck, but her aim was beyond perfect and it wedged in the tree behind him. 

“Come and find out.” he taunted back, grabbing the axe and running. She let out a growl of annoyance, grabbed two more axes and following. She was fast and gained on him quickly, and he took a risk by swiping at her with his knife. He dropped the axe, but was also quickly covered by her blood which gushed from the deep cut he’d made across her face. Her scream of pain and frustration echoed around the trees, sending the birds flying off in alarm.

“You’ll may for that, Twelve.” she spat out his district like it was a disease and swiped blindly with her axe. Apparently, even with one less eye and major blood loss, she still knew where to aim, because he felt nothing but pain rip across his stomach. Blood spilled from his mouth, and he knew he only had minutes left, if that. An idea popped into his head. He didn’t know why or how the idea came to him, but he decided quickly. There was no hope for him. He would die here. But he would not die in vain. If Genevieve had to watch him die, she would watch the girl from One die as well. He knew that deep down, his loss would destroy her, but the satisfaction of having no victor would please her just enough.

He quickly began treading towards the cliff, hearing the girl stumble after. He glanced down at his large wound and realized he was holding his intenses in them. Logically, he should have fainted and died right there. Haymitch had never been one for logic. He tripped, landing on his knees inches from the cliff just as the girl broke the trees. 

“Bye bye.” she taunted, throwing her last axe. The blood loss must have been getting to her, because she was off by a few inches. Even then, she could have won without it. But she stopped, puzzled at how to kill without a weapon as the axe flew over the edge. Haymitch watched her reaction to the axe suddenly flying back. She was a second to late as it embedded deeply into her skull, and her cannon fired. 

Haymitch looked in the direction where he knew there was probably a camera. “Genevive. I love you.” he said. Then blackness wrapped him in a cold, dark blanket, and he stopped fighting.

\---

A gasp escaped his lips. Haymitch opened his eyes to stare at a painfully white ceiling, a light buzzing overhead. “God.” he croaked, trying to sit. He must be dead, because it was way too easy for a guy who was nearly sliced in half by an axe. 

“Oh my god.” he heard a familiar voice breath, and he turned to see her, looking as beautiful as ever, sitting up straight by his bed.

“Genevieve?” he reached for her, almost afraid she might be fake, some cruel joke by the universe. Or maybe the gamemakers had found a way to haunt him, even in death. 

“My victor. Haymitch, you won.” She took his hands and kissed them. 

“I won?” he questioned, then felt memories rush back to him way too quickly. “I won.”

“You’re alive. And the Capitol has fantastic medicine and doctors. They almost lost you, but they saved you and said that you should have a fantastic recovery.”

He glanced down at his chest and lifted his shirt. There was a very faint, pink scar, but nowhere intense as it should have been. “Wow…”

“Your family will be here soon. The Capitol is sending a hovercraft to get them.” she stroked his hair.

“How did you get here so fast?” he questioned, sipping gratefully on the cup of water she offered. At that moment, nothing tasted better. 

“Oh, you won’t believe it. I’ve been staying here since Day One of the games.” she blinked, as if she was surprised by the fact herself. “President Snow saw the recording of our goodbye, and heard me announce my pregnancy. I’ve been staying here getting the best care possible.”

His eyes flew down to her stomach, a thousand questions getting ready to burst out. Instead, she took his hands and placed them on her stomach. It was slightly rounded, not as big as he saw in the pregnant women who begged around the Hob. “I’m only about four months along.” she hummed. “In fact, I just found out the gender yesterday...would you like to know?”

“Yes.” his eyes moved to meet hers, chest about to burst.

“It’s a girl.” she moved to sit on the edge of the bed and kissed him. “A daughter.”

“A daughter.” he repeated, finding how hungry he was for her lips. “We are going to be parents, and we won’t ever have to worry about money...or shelter...or anything.”

“We got our happily ever after.” she grinned, shining as bright as the full moon on a clear night. “I...I talked to Maysilee’s family.”

Haymitch wasn’t sure why the subject took such a dark and sudden turn. His shoulders dropped at the mention of his brief friend. “Oh.”

She offered a sad smile. “They know that you will see them around, when we go back home. But they’ve asked you...not talk to them. They thank you for being kind to her and keeping her calm in her final moments. But you know that losing her won’t be easy.”

“Right.” he sighed. The request stung, but he did understand. In some weird way, he did. He made a mental note to send them some of his winnings every month. 

The next few days were a blur as he was reunited with his family and sent back home to District Twelve. The crowd to greet him was large. It seemed everyone was there, from the youngest to the oldest. It took him hours before he was able to settle down in his new home in Victor's Village. That night, he held Genevive to his chest and listened to her soft breathing. It took him a few hours before he fell asleep himself, afraid that someone would come for revenge. But he was able to quickly let that fear go after reminding himself that all the other tributes were dead. Normally, it wasn’t uncommon for the families of a deceased tribute to riot. But they often never tried to leave the district for revenge on the winner. That would mean their own death. From now on, District Twelve would be heavily guarded to protect another Capitol gem. 

Some nights he didn’t get any sleep. Sometimes the nightmares were too strong, and sometimes his torso ached and he vomited, his body tricking him into thinking he tasted blood. But of course, all that was over. When these nights happened, Genevive would hold him, shush him and give him one of the pills given to him to help with sleep and nightmares. Then she would wash the sheets and stroke his hair until he fell asleep again. 

When he awoke on a stormy night about two weeks later, it wasn’t because of the rumbling thunder outside or from a nightmare. It was because of muffled screaming, a sharp prick in his neck, and the reek of roses. “What the hell!?” he yelled, grabbing for his knife. He only had seconds to take in the face of an intense looking Peacekeeper before he was pulled into darkness again. 

The darkness didn’t last long. He fought it tooth and nail. When he woke up, he knew he wasn’t in District Twelve anymore. He was in a way too large, way too white room that could only belong to the Capitol. And shackled to the wall across from him where three very familiar figures- his mother, younger brother, and Genevive. For whatever reason, Haymitch wasn’t shackled and discovered this when he lunged across the room to unchain him. “What the fuck is this?” he yelled, knowing that someone was watching. His mother and brother were unconscious, but Genevive was starting to stir.

The door opened, and a face Haymitch never wanted to see entered. President Snow was there, surrounded by two Peacekeepers.

“Haymitch Abernathy. Victor. District Twelve.” Snow rattled the facts off like they were the most important words to exist.

“Yeah, the hell is this?” he demanded. “Unchain them.” 

“Abernathy. It would do you well to not disobey me.” Snow looked him up and down. “Your stunt with the force field has everyone on their toes, especially the Gamemakers.”

“Why?” he had to laugh. “You’re mad because I found a way to use the arena against you? Well, get used to it. It was bound to happen eventually. What’s pleasure and laughs to you is survival to us- and I chose survival. I’m sorry one of your precious rich districts didn’t win.”

Snow glanced at the Peacekeeper to his left, who raised a very small, skinny riffle and pulled the trigger. Before Haymitch could react, the bullet sliced cleanly between his mother’s eyes, her blood splattering on the wall behind her. Her body went limp and pulled against the chains, but they held tight.

At some point, he thought he screamed. He also knew he lunged for Snow. But when the angry fog cleared, his brother was dead from the same fatal wound as their mother, and Genevive was gasping for air, a bullet clean through her stomach. 

“Gen- Hold on.” Haymitch begged, hands pressing to the wound. “I’m so, so sorry. I’ll fix this. I swear.” he was shaking as he looked into her emerald eyes, watching the light fade.

“Haymitch.” she coughed, blood running down her chin. “We won’t make it.”

“Yes you will.” he sobbed, angry. This was his fault. “Even if she doesn’t-” the thought made him choke. “Even if the baby dies, you’ll live. We can start over and be happy. I’ll fix this. You’ll be alright, okay?”

The chains holding Genevive up were released, probably by a button outside the room. Haymitch hadn’t realized that Snow and the Peacekeepers had left, but he knew they were still watching. He quickly gathered Genevive in her lap, shaking as he tried to staunch the blood flow. “Please hang out.”

She let out a weak cough, more blood running down her cheek. “Promise me.” she managed to get out, her strength fading from the two words.

“Don’t talk. Save your strength. I promise you’ll be okay.” his hands were shaking.

“N-No.” she coughed and took a few seconds to have a raspy inhale. She took his hands, smearing her pale skin in crimson. “I’m dying. Promise me that you’ll remember me. And our daughter. Name her for me.”

“Maysilee.” he blurted out the first name that came to mind.

Genevieve smiled, her eyes moving to the ceiling. “I’m sure Maysilee Donner would be honored. I’ll make sure she is the first to hold Maysilee Abernathy….”

“Please. Just hang on.” he sobbed. “Damn it, Snow! I’ll do whatever you want, just fucking help her!” his voice was raw from screaming. 

A shaky hand touched his cheek. “Promise me you’ll learn to be happy again.” she whispered.

He started to argue, but she pressed a finger to his lips. “Promise me.” she demanded again. 

“I promise.” the tears mixed with the streaks of blood she’d left on his face. With one last smile, the light faded from her eyes and Haymitch watched her exhale once more...then nothing. 

He wasn’t sure how long he screamed, paced the room, and did as much damage as he could. When he became aware of everything again, he was clean and in his bed back in the Victor’s Village of Twelve. Somewhere, deep down, he was praying for a nightmare. But as days turned into weeks, he knew that Snow was serious. This act was a punishment he would live with for the rest of his life. So when he bought the strongest alcohol Twelve could offer, hoping to drown out everything, he knew that his promise to Genevive was broken. He begged for her forgiveness as he picked up the bottle and never set it back down. 

For years, he was the mockery of the Capitol. A sad, lonely drunk who didn’t bother to train his victors and watch them drop like flies. Most believed he didn’t care. And truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he did. He had lost so much, and these children he saw for about a week meant nothing. Until Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. Despite the liquor fogging his brain, something about Everdeen was different. She was a fighter. She had a chance. Haymitch knew this for a fact as he watched her ever move, watched her risk her life for the baker boy, watched her become the Capitol favorite...and watched her threaten suicide. Despite the fact she drove him mad, made him watch over his shoulder twice as much, he knew that she was a flame that couldn’t be doused. Katniss and Peeta became family to him, family he had lost years ago. Although he would never admit it. Throughout the fight Katniss led, Haymitch quickly found himself remembering his promise to Genevive. 

So when it’s all over, and Haymitch can sleep peacefully next to Effie Trinket (Effie Abernathy) he knows that maybe he lived up to that promise at least a little bit. And when they are called to the Mellark house in the middle of the night to be crowned Godparents of Katniss’s and Peeta’s daughter, and Haymitch is asked to name her, he doesn’t feel too broken anymore. 

“Genevive.” he answers without hesitation, then frowns. Katniss knows of his first love, killed at the hands of Snow. But because she understands his pain in a way no one else can, she smiles and nods. She’s tired, sweaty and pale from a rough pregnancy and an even worse labor, she agrees. 

“Genevive. Beautiful name.” she whispers. 

Later. When Effie is sleeping in an extra bed, the tiredness out weighing her eagerness to be close to the newest baby, and Peeta is curled up in a chair in the corner, Katniss smiles and hands the baby to Haymitch. At first, he refuses, not wanting to drop her or hurt her. But the smile his Mockingjay gives is too powerful, and he cradles the small bundle to his chest. 

“You’ll be alright.” Katniss tells him, and Haymitch smiles.

“Yeah. I’ll be alright.” he whispers, glancing down at the tiny bundle. “And so will you. You will be alright.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. xx


End file.
